


Narcissism

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Doppelcest, Edolas, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s movement, a head turning to look back, features similar enough to Gajeel’s own to be eerie though not identical. 'I don’t think fucking yourself in an alternate universe counts, do you?'" Gajeel and Gajeel take advantage of the opportunities presented by Edolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narcissism

“So,” Gajeel starts. “Am I gay in this world?”

There’s a laugh from the form under him, a sharp chuckle that sounds so familiar it’s strange to hear it without feeling the vibration in his own throat. “No more than you are in your own.” There’s movement, a head turning to look back, features similar enough to Gajeel’s own to be eerie though not identical. “I don’t think fucking yourself in an alternate universe counts, do you?”

Gajeel grins. “Nah.” His fingers are slick already, coated in some viscous liquid his other self produced without explanation, and if he’s never done this before, well, it’s not like he’s in danger of being inconsiderate when he’s looking at an echo of his own self. “What about the lube, though?”

“Don’t you ever bother with that?” other-Gajeel asks. “Even if you’re just jerking off, it feels better if it’s a little bit smoother.”

“Huh.” Gajeel raises his eyebrows in admission of the point. “Learn something every day.”

“Just go slow,” the other says as Gajeel fits the cap back on the bottle so he can toss it aside. “It’s supposed to be better if you’re slow.”

“Hey,” Gajeel grins. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the calm one of the two of us.” But he does move carefully, as gentle with the push of his callused fingers as he can manage. There’s more resistance than he expects, like the other man’s body is refusing to let him in; then all at once he’s moving, the tip of his lube-slick finger pressing inside, and they both make a weird shocked sound at once.

“Woah,” Gajeel says. “You’re really  _warm_.”

“That feels  _really_  strange,” his other self observes against the mattress. Gajeel hesitates, unsure if that’s actual displeasure or not, but before he can open his mouth to ask the other man goes on. “You don’t have to stop. I’ll tell you if you do.”

“Alright,” Gajeel agrees, faster than he would with someone else. But whatever their surface differences, he and his other-self seem fundamentally the same, and if he can’t trust himself to be honest, he can’t trust anyone. He pushes in a little deeper, all his attention focused on the way the other’s -- his? -- body feels around him, the little trembling motions of response to the intrusion, and if he was half-hard just from the novelty originally he’s fully there, now, the idea of having this heat tightening around him enough to finish what sheer curiosity began. It’s not narcissism, exactly -- he doesn’t think it is, anyway -- just interest, the same itching interest that has driven him into far stupider pursuits than fucking his sort-of-clone in a parallel universe to his own.

“Is this narcissism, do you think?” the other asks, echoing Gajeel’s own thoughts so clearly it makes him laugh.

“Maybe,” he admits, eases his hand back to try a second finger. It’s a stretch, enough to make the other man hiss against the sheets, but he doesn’t put words to a command to stop, so Gajeel doesn’t. “Whatever. How many people get this chance?”

“We have to make the most of it,” the other agrees, his back arching in unspoken reaction as Gajeel works his fingers in past the second knuckle. “We’re trading after this, before you go back.”

“Yeah,” Gajeel says without any hesitation. That was the agreement, to start; unfair for one or the other of them to top without experiencing it from both directions. Agreeing to that second part is easier still, falling into the casual assumption that he  _can_  get back, that he won’t be trapped in the unfamiliarity of this universe without any way of getting his home and his friends back.

Far better to think about physical sensation instead. “Does it hurt?” He has almost two fingers completely inside the other man, now, the heat no less than it was originally but becoming almost ordinary even after just a few minutes. The tension along the other’s spine has lessened too, from what he can tell; there’s nothing to see now but the usual curve, shoulders thin with writing instead of fighting sweeping down to sharp-edged hips in place of the sturdier build Gajeel is used to seeing in the mirror.

He’s staring at that, considering how they would look seen next to each other, their differences made clear to eyes other than their own, when the other speaks and Gajeel realizes he had been shaking his head in negation. “It’s okay. You can move a little faster if you want.”

“It doesn’t feel, like, great though, right?” Gajeel draws his hand back, pushes in more exploratorily. He can hear the other’s breathing coming a little harder as he moves but there’s none of the shuddering pleasure he has some vague expectation of. “Isn’t this supposed to feel amazing or something?”

A shrug, that sharp laugh that is the one point of perfect imitation between them. “I’ll let you know if it does. ‘Slong as I get off one way or another, it’s all the same to me.” The other man shifts his weight, comes up to lean on an elbow so he can look back over his shoulder. “You planning on keeping me waiting all day? Or are you going to man up and fuck me?”

“Hey there,” Gajeel growls in mock anger. “I’m trying to be considerate here.” He pulls his fingers back; there’s weird friction as he moves, heat as much as it is clinging tension, prickling unfamiliarity up his spine but stoking the heat of curiosity hotter in his chest too. He’s still hard as he reaches for the heavy buckle at the front of his pants, doesn’t need more than a quick slide of slick fingers to get himself ready. The motion is easy, so slippery he almost moves too fast, and his eyebrows go up, his mouth falling into a frown of consideration.

“Huh.” He strokes up again, even though he doesn’t really need it; the movement is slick with the lube, pours sensation into his blood like he’s getting all the dragging satisfaction of his fingers all at once. “You weren’t kidding about the lube.”

“Of course I wasn’t.” There’s a glance sideways, red eyes cutting behind heavy glasses frames, the twist of a familiar smile to match, and then his other self is rocking back and closer to Gajeel. “Come on, just do it.”

That Gajeel can understand, the impulse to move once a decision has been made, tension born as much of determination as nerves. It makes him grin in recognition, reach out to press his hand to the shape of clear-cut hipbone under indoor-pale skin to hold them in place with each other. The other takes a breath, long and careful like he’s bracing himself, and Gajeel braces himself in truth, presses his knees in against the soft of the bed and reaches down to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock as he looks down at what he’s doing.

It’s not really all that hard to line himself up. His parallel universe self is holding helpfully still, his skin faintly slick from the lube still clinging to Gajeel’s fingers to match the glossy sheen against the flushed-dark heat of Gajeel’s own cock, and between them it’s easy to fall into alignment. And then, well, Gajeel’s never been the type for hesitation. He rocks forward, presses in against the other man, and even though there’s more resistance than he was expecting he doesn’t have time to more than take a breath before the other’s body opens up to him and he starts to slide into the slick heat. The other-Gajeel sighs an exhale and Gajeel himself growls something unintelligible and purring, because it  _does_  feel good, all that heat and tension closing in around him better than his fingers alone. He keeps pushing in, the slick of the lube and the minutes of preparation making the single stroke possible even while the other man’s breathing hisses from the strain, and he’s rocking forward without meaning to, groaning approval of the heat that is sweeping out into his veins and over his skin.

“Your hand,” the other-him manages, and Gajeel has to go still, take a moment for the raw physical pleasure to fade enough to make sense of the words. Then he forms reason out of incoherency, lets one of his hands go from the other’s hip to reach around for his cock. It’s like a weird sort of masturbation, kind of, the effect only heightened when Gajeel draws back and starts rocking forward in time with the slow drag of his hand over the other man’s length. That gets him a shiver, a choked-off laugh in his other self’s throat, and when Gajeel coughs amusement himself his hips come forward faster than he intended, deeper than he meant, and he can feel the other’s jolt of response through his whole body.

“ _Ah_!” sharp and bright and crystal-clear, the sound heated and so unquestionably sexual Gajeel doesn’t have to be narcissistic to appreciate the resonance of it. “ _There_ , do that again.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” Gajeel admits, but he draws back, thrusts in again. There’s no such convulsive reaction again this time, just a whine of frustration, and Gajeel doesn’t wait to be told to try again. He tries a second time, a third, shifts his weight and does it again, and then -- just as he’s starting to frown in frustration of his own -- other-Gajeel rocks back, hard and fast and quick, and they both groan in satisfaction.

“ _Yeah_ ,” the other says, and “ _Good_ ,” Gajeel purrs, and then they’re moving together, his other self rocking back to meet the forward thrusts of Gajeel’s hips. They don’t need to discuss it; it’s easy, easier than any teamwork Gajeel has ever tried to coordinate, nearly as thoughtless as the synchronization of his movements when he walks. He’s flushing hotter, harder, the familiar ache of anticipated satisfaction drawing out taut under his skin, and his hand is moving faster, too, stroking up against the slick heat of the other’s cock as if it’s his own, as if the movements will push him over the edge faster. They’re both breathing hard, Gajeel growling on his inhales and other-Gajeel nearly whining on his, and Gajeel has a moment of regret that they won’t get to do this regularly, that his return to Earthland will require their separation. Then his thoughts crumble into pieces, disintegrate and melt into the flare of heat in his blood, and he’s groaning himself into satisfaction, too lost to the surge of pleasure tingling through him to parse the sensation of his own orgasm as separate from the ripples of climax shuddering through the other’s body. It’s all familiar, the pleasure in his veins and even the sticky mess against his fingers, until it takes a moment for him to separate out their two selves into distinct entities again.

Gajeel doesn’t bother even wiping his hand clean as he pulls free and lets go; it’s too tempting to do what he does, which is roll sideways on the bed and lie sprawled out and staring at the ceiling. Luckily this seems another point in common with his alternate self; there’s no comment about the need for cleanliness or pointed suggestions of a shower, just a sigh of satisfaction against the blankets and then the heavy sound of breathing slowing back to a regular pace.

“Huh,” Gajeel finally manages, some indeterminate amount of time later. “That was  _definitely_ worth it.”

Other-Gajeel laughs. “We agree on many points, I see.” There’s a shift, a groan against the sheets. “We still have another round to go, you know.”

“At  _least_  one,” Gajeel says. When he looks sideways the other is watching him, their smirks so identical it is impossible not to fall into a chuckle at the same time.

He likes the way he sounds in stereo.


End file.
